Strength in Falling
by i-embrace-OCD
Summary: Tokka oneshot collection. They find strength and weakness in the balance of one another. Further details inside. - Installment Ten: Reasons; Installment Eleven: Story
1. Raindrops

Title: Strength in Falling

Author: i-embrace-ocd

Synopsis of the Collection: 

These oneshots have been written to capture a few moments in the Tokka relationship where a better understanding of the characters can be gained. Sometimes the themes stray from this original focus point, but hopefully those'll be interesting enough to keep you entertained all the same. All other ships are kept to an absolute minimum and are easily overlooked, though this rule may be broken with one or perhaps two oneshots. Hopefully, however, I'll be able to stick to what I've got. I'll update weekly. 

This collection is mostly to help me when I've got writer's block, to advance my talents as a writer, and to allow me to branch out a little with a few ideas I've had. I suggest you at least read the first one to evaluate whether or not this is your cup of tea, though I'm the writer, so I would say that. Oh, and by the way – the number beside each oneshot's title is related to the order of the ideas. This one, for example, was the eighteenth idea I came up with.

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_Oneshot 18: Raindrops_

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Toph loves the rain.

Most people are surprised to learn such a brilliant thing; most, in fact, insist that surely the constant patter of raindrops in her vision is annoying, but she always denies this. She is annoyed by the incessant vibrations caused by a crowd of feet, but raindrops and people – they're two totally, completely different things. 

With people, there are lies and injustices and the most horrible evils; this fact is only reinforced by the war, which is a testament to the terrible things of which people are capable. Not all people are bad, of course, but not a single one is completely and utterly _good. _No, people are imperfect, impure. Stained by the sinful evils that they commit everyday.

Raindrops – raindrops are perfect. They have no heartbeat, have no breath; they are not conscious, and they can't do anything wrong. They can't cause pain – pain like Toph knows, pain like that which spreads through her body with every heartbeat she feels; they can't lie, they can't steal, they can't do anything wrong. And Spirits, rain is beautiful, because it paints a picture of the world around Toph. She hates water, normally – but rain is an exception. 

Of course, all of that is fine and good. There's the fact that rain washes away some of the horrors of humanity; there's the idea that when it rains, the Spirits are crying, and that's a terrible, beautiful thing, to be bathed in the Spirits' tears. So many things about the rain are touching; Toph loves it, truly, but all of these reasons follow her main motive for her feelings.

Toph really loves the rain because it shields her tears.

With the rain often comes the howl of the wind, which veils her sobs beautifully; also with rain comes the desire to be inside, so while the world is huddled up in their homes or shelters or wherever they may be, away from the dreadful weather, Toph is left alone in the rain and may act as she pleases, because she is alone. 

At least, she _was _alone, once. It rarely rains in the Fire Nation, but when it does, she rejoices; she will steal away from the Avatar's group for a few precious moments and bask in the comfort that is _discomfort, _enjoy the freedom of expressing her feelings with tears of grief: sorrow for her parents, for her running away, for the world's dependence on them (Spirits, what pressure), for the Fire Nation, for the hateful, horrible world. Her pain is washed away by the beautiful, comforting rain, by her dreadful, consoling tears. She always feels new afterward, feels like she is ready to live again; she is guarded about her feelings, is always so careful and safe about it, showing only what is truly necessary. She is only twelve, and the barrier she's set for herself is broken a few times, but for the most part she keeps her feelings pent up inside of her for the soothing experience of a single, wonderful release.

In truth, Toph hates crying; but she can't help it, and when Sokka began to follow her (apparently he didn't think she knew about it), she felt safe. She doesn't believe that he knows of her tears. He has grievances of his own; whereas she lets her feelings flow out of her in the rain, however, Sokka uses the cover and protection of night. Toph will stay up sometimes and hear him talk to the moon, and at first she thought he was crazy, but she learned. She always does.

So Sokka isn't crazy, and some nights he weeps, softly and just enough so that Toph could barely hear. But she does, and he always wiped his eyes so that never does a tear fall to the ground lest Toph sense it and know that he is weak.

She is weak, too, though, and has no right to hold against him a burden that they both must bear. She knows this, and she feels glad that she is not the only one who wants to hide away her pain and wait until it is safe to expose her feelings to the environment, and nothing and no one else. She knows she is not alone anyway, but Aang finds strength difficult and has so much pressure and has known so much pain that he often finds it hard to handle everything. Katara helps these times; she, too, is strong, but she isn't afraid to show her feelings, either. Toph wonders that perhaps sometimes Katara is ashamed; only sometimes, though, because Katara has known much as well and knows that to reveal emotion is not only weakness, but also strength in itself. Toph is not accustomed to this sort of thinking, and she finds weakness and dishonor and _failure_ in tears.

She knows that he watches her, though, and even if he doesn't know that she cries (but oh, he does – she has no idea, but he knows), she knows that he is conscious of the sadness that envelops her with the rain. That is something she can't help, and so she doesn't dwell on it; but to share her pain is a little comforting, too. In the midst of their burdens and pain and sorrow there is _him, _and he, just like her, is searching for comfort and compensation in their shattered, broken world.

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Sokka loves the rain.

Most people decide that it is because even if he is not a waterbender, he is still Water Tribe, and love of water is only natural; no more thought is put into it, and people go about their businesses, moving on to other things. He is glad that no one tries to seek his true reason for this affection, for he is terrible at keeping things to himself and knows that his motives can be easily revealed, despite how well he might think he is concealing them.

He started out hating rain, really. They rarely got it in the Southern Water Tribe because it was always so cold and the only precipitation was blizzard after blizzard. Once they moved on to other parts of the world, however – rain was foreign, rain was annoying and wet and cold, though they weren't necessarily unaccustomed to these particularly things. As their exploits continued, however, he realized how much _good _it does.

Rain means life. Rain makes the world new again; rain has to power to make life rise among death. Sokka knows that rain quells fire, the enemy element. It washes away the blood of battle. It washes away _everything – _even things it cannot touch. He has no idea how this is, or how it came to be; however, he is willing to put aside the science of things just this once because it does sort of make sense, a little.

He only learned that information, though, when he followed _her _one rainy evening. She hadn't walked far, and he hadn't stayed close; but of course she knew he was there, and he could nevertheless see what she was doing, because it was absolutely nothing. At least, that was what he thought at first – then he realized that she was crying (because he could hear the sharp intakes of breath as she attempted to stifle the noise), and he wondered why she was crying. His mind dwelled on her motives for some time until he came to a conclusion; one that he would never confirm by asking her, but that he knew was true all the same.

Toph cried because of the pain. It was the same sort of pain that plagued him after the sun descended from the sky and the world's ceiling was black; it was the same brand as that which haunted him under the soft moonlight. Not the exact same pain itself, but so close that the line dividing them was too thin to almost see. Of course, at the same time their pains were utterly different; one and the same, but so insanely apart that how anyone might classify them together might be a mystery. They are both pain, though – that is the main thing. Always, always – it is the pain that draws their sorrow together, and he feels closer to her every time he watches her cry, no matter how wrong his mind knows that he is for intruding and spying; for his heart tells him that he is not in the wrong, but in the right by defining a connection between two beings that are otherwise unbearably dissimilar.

Sokka had always been one to follow his mind, but lately the heart has begun to fight back into its reign of his actions, and this instance is no exception. He watches her, and he finds a kindred spirit within her – and he wants to be closer to her, wants to know her pain, and wants her to know his. He loves the rain, because it has brought desires that he otherwise might never have known; the desire to find a level of understanding with another human being, the desire to share the pain of another truly – these things are new to him.

He knows Toph is just like him, and he knows that he is not alone in his weakness, in how he lacks. He knows that she falls short of the mark, too, in her own way – though this idea is unimaginable to him, for she always seems so stable and capable. This show of emotion appeals to him because it exhibits her humanity, and he loves that, too. They both fail; they're both weak, though respectively and in different ways; they both have significant parts in the Avatar's bringing peace to the world; and, finally, they've both suffered enough to find a comfortable familiarity in each other, and that in itself is something that Sokka would have never thought of – would have never _dreamed _of, not in a thousand years of thinking – had it not been for the rain.

He doesn't know that she stays up sometimes and listens to his misery, though he suspects as much. He never asks her about that, either; there are so many things that he will never ask, never mention, and so many things that he will probably never have the ability to. The war's end is on the horizon; what will happen after that is a mystery, and no one, least of all he, cares to think of it. There will be duties and comfort and strife, for there always is; and there will be burdens and pressure and a silver lining, because each of these things is perpetually there, though people are not always completely aware of them. 

He is sure of one thing, though. No matter how much the wind howls and the thunder roars, no matter how many times lightning splits the sky and the world is ravaged by disaster, he knows that each time tears fall from the sky – the tears of the Spirits, as some legends say, or the tears of the Earth itself, or wherever they come from – he just knows that every single time a raindrop falls to Earth, he will think of _her_, of every painful and beautiful and in-between moment spent with her. The rain brings growth to her, the very Earth, for that is her element and that is who she is; the rain is her own outlet, her private moment all in itself for her to feel the pain that builds up behind her wall of strength. 

He will think of her when it rains, no matter the outcome of the war; he will, and he knows it. The rain will fall no matter what happens, and so will his thoughts center with her; for they do live in a beaten, broken world, and they are both beaten, broken people - but he believes that if they can each pick up the broken pieces of the other, they can make each other whole again. 


	2. In Their Elements

Author's Note: I'm fascinated with Toph's relationship with her element. A lot of installments will involve that connection, so I figured I'd warn you now. Also, I love Sokka and his relationship with his sword. This was pretty natural, so I hope you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Avatar. ;)

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_Oneshot 21: In Their Elements_

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He is in his element.

He was not born with the gift of bending; however, the Spirits blessed him with the courage and perseverance to master the ways of the sword. When he wields his weapon, a perfect extension of himself, he experiences a feeling that he's sure is something like what benders feel when working with their respective elements.

His connection with his weapon is obvious; when he practices, _she, _in all of her own bending glory, observes. He is unaware that she watches him, and she prefers to keep it that way; if he knew, she isn't sure how he would react. She doesn't want him to be angry with her for spying, nor does she think she ought to disturb him. He is immersed, consumed completely.

She vaguely wonders if she is that way when she bends.

He moves, with grace and power; she cannot see the glint of the black-as-pitch sword, cannot see the blade with her eyes. But she can hear it, can feel it – it cuts the air, striking at invisible targets, and sometimes he will cut plants this way and that. Vibrations course up his body and through the sword. It is unlike anything she had ever witnessed. She is awed, mystified.

She does not think that the Avatar sees what she sees. She doesn't even think that the warrior's sister can detect the refined relationship between weapon and wielder, though perhaps that is only because her own senses are developed enough to _know_.

Perhaps, too, that because she is a master of her element, she can discern others who are just as experienced and powerful. The waterbender is, however, a master if anyone ever had a right to be; this makes her ponder more, and all the while he trains, practicing the ways of his element.

He listens to the sword. He _listens – _it comes naturally, too. Nothing is forced. He eases into the voice of his weapon, and he uses it as it wishes to be used; she observes. She waits. She learns.

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She is in her element.

She has known the gift of bending since the dawn of her life. She has always been acquainted with the longing call of the earth, the yearning song that has always echoed beneath her feet. She has never known a day without the strength of her element at hand, guiding her, shaping her instead of the other way around. As she grew into a master, this changed; there was equilibrium between master and element, a balance that could not be achieved any other way. The earth spoke, and she listened; but it no longer commanded her. She, experienced in the ways of her practice, had begun to command the earth, and together she achieved with it a harmonic balance. She experiences a feeling like no other when she bends; it is untouchable. Nothing could ever come close.

Her connection with her element is apparent; when she practices, _he_, in all his talent with weaponry, observes. She is perfectly aware that he does this, though he believes that it is his own secret and has never actually told her. He doesn't know how she would react, but she, in all honesty, doesn't mind in the slightest. He doesn't want to cause her to mess up, but she knows that she won't because when she is bending she hardly notices him at all. She is immersed, consumed completely.

He vaguely wonders if he is that way when he practices, but it is a crazy idea to him – he, a warrior of the Southern Water Tribe, a bender? It seemed absurd to even attempt to think of himself in such a way, for the ways of the sword were so much more logical, so much more solid. Then he realizes that, watching her, there is nothing more logical in the world, and solidity isn't even a question.

She moves, steadily and compellingly. She was never one to be graceful – but the word fits so perfectly in describing her bending movements; he watches her with keen eyes, taking in her firm actions. The earth abides by her will – she is the bender, the mover, the one with power. But he can see that she is careful and cautious, no matter how quick or slow her movements are. It seems effortless; he feels that everything else in the world pales in comparison to her when she's bending. Everything, of course, except for the feeling he gets when he is in his own element, the sword. He watches her; he is bewildered and humbled.

He does not believe that anyone else has ever seen her like he sees her. She has always been misunderstood; her bending has never been taken seriously, least of all by the people who were supposed to be closest to her – her parents. However, _he _feels like he understands her. She is vague and shadowed when she is in the rush of reality, but when she commands her element – when she commands the very world around her – he receives her loud and clear. He listens to her, almost like he listens to his sword.

He looks on. She listens to the earth; she listens – it is the most natural thing in the world. He sees that it is a part of her, sees that it is as much essential to life as breathing. A deep yearning inside of him needs that relationship, and he think that perhaps he has found it – in his weapon. In his sword. She works with her element; he observes. He waits. He learns.

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	3. Truth

Author's Note: I was going for something totally different when I started this, but I actually combined two ideas here. I really like how it turned out, and I hope you do, too!

Disclaimer: Nope, I don't own Avatar. Remember you're reading **fan**fiction.

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_Oneshot 1: Truth_

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Sokka stared at the starry night sky. The absence of the moon didn't bother him too much tonight – not like it might have, if a certain earthbender had stayed in her earth tent. He might have been able to focus on his memories of Yue, on the effect of the lack of moonlight gracing the evening, if she had been asleep like she was supposed to be.

Toph was awake, though, and sitting somewhere off to the side of the campsite; he wanted to know what kept her awake, what could possibly trouble her mind enough to rob her of the relief of sleep. He wondered what thoughts floated around in that head of hers. She was an object of supreme curiosity to him – sightless, but not, and small, but also not.

She was undoubtedly aware of the fact that he wasn't asleep, either. He could tell that she knew she wasn't alone – despite the slumbering figures of Aang and Katara, she could feel an intruding presence listening for a word, waiting for acknowledgement. The air was too tense, the wind too still. She would have known without the advantage of being able to tell when his heart thumped heavily and rhythmically and when it didn't, when his breathing was thick and content and when it wasn't.

He didn't know why she stayed awake. She had only been doing it for a few nights, but he believed that the nights were _his, _that the steady glow of the moon and whispers of the evening breezes belonged to him only. It was what made him not feel guilty about being awake when she seemed to want to be alone – if she could intrude on _his _nights, then he could intrude on hers.

He considered saying something, but every night (he always stayed awake at night, always stared silently at the sky, moonless or not) he held his tongue, the silence being too heavy to overcome with the slight strain of mere meaningless words.

Finally, though, the blanket of silence proceeded to smother him, and the curiosity of _why _she stayed up compelled him to speak. "Toph?"

She didn't recognize the foggy, thick trait of sleep that voices were often laden with in the middle of the night. Then again, those sorts of voices also came from people who had indulged in sleep, and the clarity of Sokka's tone was unsurprising, though annoying. He had been up – she felt invaded, but not irritatingly so. A guy has his rights, choices – if Sokka wanted sleep, he'd have it, and if he didn't, he wouldn't.

"Yes?" Toph asked, allowing spite to seep into the single word.

He winced at the sharp quality in her voice. "I – I know it's late an' all, but you're up, and I'm up, and I just thought I'd ask you why _you're _up. I mean, I'm always up – habit – but you…" He stopped, and then took a breath. "What I mean is, is something wrong?"

Toph frowned. The question did not altogether surprise her, but that didn't necessarily mean she was prepared to answer it. She allowed a weary breath to escape her and replied, "No."

His silence – not contemplative, but tense and expectant – compelled her further.

"Nothing's wrong with me, anyway, if that's what you mean." She was turned away from him, perched on a fallen log. There was no wind to carry her words; he was surprised at the clarity of her voice at an untimely hour, but he shouldn't have been.

Sokka was immediately both curious and perplexed. "Why're you up, then?"

"Thinking," was her simple reply.

Sokka frowned. "Well, what are you thinking about?" he asked, and he honestly wanted to know; Toph was such a strange person! What could she possibly be thinking about to make her stay up all hours of the night and dwell on it?

Toph didn't seem particularly thrilled about answering his questions, but in truth, she was glad to have someone to talk to. She'd never reveal that, though, so Sokka wouldn't ever know that his acknowledgement of her was appreciated, despite the tone of her voice. "A lot of things, really. A lot of Fire Nation things." She could practically feel Sokka's eyes peering at her from where he lay in his sleeping bag, and she was uncomfortable. "Just… we've had a lot to think about, you know?"

"Yeah," Sokka agreed, perking up slightly at the promise of conversation. He could feel it; she was dying to tell someone, and he was dying to listen and offer his input. "The Fire Nation sure is…"

Sokka trailed off, not knowing how to finish. This didn't matter, though – Toph was more than happy to complete his thought for him. "Terrible? Oppressing? Insane?" she offered, a bitter taste in her mouth at the thoughts that crossed her mind.

Sokka nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess. All of those things." He waited.

Toph sighed. "I mean, this really could have been a great country, once. Everything's so messed up now, though. Everything's… it's just all wrong, Sokka. This place is _wrong_." Toph hated the Fire Nation; she _hated _it, with every shred of hatred she had the capacity to feel. The air smelled wrong, the wind and weather felt wrong, the very earth beneath her feet – _her very own element_ – gave her a sense of disloyalty, as though that part of herself might very well betray _her, _the greatest earthbender in the world. The ground was almost fake, to be honest. She could taste the falsity in the atmosphere, could sense the lack of truth in anything that might feel real.

"I know, Toph. I know." Sokka _did _know, too. His senses weren't as refined as hers and he didn't pick up on miniscule differences in the air, in the earth, but he did get a _feeling_. Someone had shoved the pieces of a puzzle into places where they didn't fit, and the resulting picture was warped from the original. He could just _feel _it; his skin tingled with distrust of the entire nation. There was so much horror, so much wrong that it was evident from the first step on Fire Nation soil. The country was infected; Toph and Sokka both wondered if the painful effects of the 100-year war could be changed or reversed. The Fire Nation people were so engulfed in their false ideas that it would be difficult to make everyone change their entire culture.

Toph nodded; he couldn't see the motion, for all her could make of her was her outline, but he knew she was preparing herself for her next words. She took a breath to steady herself so that her words didn't tumble out of her mouth. "The government is poisoning these people. Think about those kids! They were… they could have been like us. They _were _like us, almost." She paused, inhaling steadily. "Remember what Aang told us? About their schools?"

Sokka murmured something that sounded like, "Yeah."

"They're taught _lies! _All of them! They're just _kids, _Sokka, and the Fire Nation… the Fire Nation is taking away their childhood. Those kids aren't _free." _Toph could feel her voice growing in volume with the increased passion in her words. She felt so strongly about the whole thing – the Fire Nation was a bad place, sure, but most of its evil could be forgiven, in one form or another. Even the airbender genocide, while unforgivable, was against another nation. But this! This poisoning of _their own nation_!

"Toph… you know, we were all robbed of childhoods, too. Think about Aang. He's just a silly kid, but look at what he has to do! Look at what we all have to do."

"But at least we _know, _Sokka. At least we know what's going on. At least we know the truth."

Sokka took in her words and understood them. He was almost envious of the Fire Nation children; sure, they were being poisoned, but their eyes hadn't seen what he had witnessed. He was sure that no army had raided their homes and murdered their parents. He was positive that they had not seen a Fire Nation soldier ruthlessly kill a man pleading for mercy. He just _knew, _without a doubt, that their eyes and ears and noses and fingers were no plagued by memories of the heart wrenching sights, unbearable sounds, terrible smells, and overall feel of war. Toph may think they have been robbed of their innocence all she liked, but he was jealous of them because he wanted the innocence that had been preserved inside of them. They were frightened, they were meek – but they were protected, and safe.

"We may know the truth," Sokka told her, his voice adopting a slightly sad tone, "but I'd rather be surrounded by lies and have two living parents, have no knowledge of what it's like to wield a weapon, have the safety that _they _have than just know the awful reality of the world. They're _lucky."_

"Lucky?" Toph asked. Her voice was angry, but not exactly loud. "How can you call them lucky? Do you know what it's like to feel someone lie? Do you have any idea how it feels, knowing that these people are shielded from the truth?" Sokka was silent. Toph answered for him, "No, you don't. Maybe you're ready to give up all this freedom you have to be surrounded by lies, but I'd rather _die_ than have what's rightfully mine taken away from me by these _monsters."_

For a few precious moments, there was complete and utter silence. Nothing in the surrounding woods made a sound; there was no breeze. The world seemed devoid of life.

Toph murmured something so softly that Sokka had to strain to hear her. "And they're so scared. How can you live day by day when you're afraid of what others might do to you? How can those kids live like that, scared of their instructors, their parents, and the government? I don't understand how you could ever trade in what we have – horrible memories and all – for what _they _have. They have _nothing, _no courage, no freedom, no truth. Why would anyone ever willingly choose those things?"

Sokka shrugged. His mind was beginning to fog over, wanting the comfort of sleep. "Well, Toph, I guess that's what we're here for," he mumbled, shifting in his sleeping bag. "I guess we're here to bring all of those things to them. Will I have a right to be jealous, then?"

Toph said nothing.

"They'll have courage, and freedom, and they'll know the truth. They just won't suffer for it like we have. After all of this is over, they'll still be able to live their lives like normal people… we'll never be normal again. We're too… we're too changed, now…"

Toph could tell that Sokka was getting very tired. "They'll have to suffer, too, Sokka. Maybe not as much as us, but the truth will make them suffer all the same."

Sokka mumbled something in assent and in a moment he was asleep. Toph stood from the log upon which she'd been perched and threw up a rock tent in which to sleep. She felt better, less restless; she decided that she could begin receiving rest again, for even if the Fire Nation was a terrible place, and even if everything was warped and twisted out of reality, she was surrounded by her friends, her freedom, and the truth.

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An Embracing Piece


	4. Too Much

Author's Note: Toph has to teach earthbending to the new Avatar. He's the son of two people she knows all too well, and though she hasn't had contact with them for quite some time, she is still filled with emotion toward them. This is more about emotion than anything else, so keep it in mind as you're reading.

Disclaimer: I don't own Avatar: The Last Airbender, mostly because that sort of awesomeness is beyond my capability. :)

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_Oneshot 25: Too Much_

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She swore she'd never teach again.

After the untimely death of her first student (Spirits, she missed him!), she had told herself that never again would she display her sacred abilities for another to take as his own; even the new Avatar, who surely should learn from the Greatest Earthbender in the World, wasn't worthy of learning from her. Then again, if he had been a different person – if he hadn't had such a heritage, hadn't brought back so many terrible memories -, perhaps she wouldn't have minded nearly so much.

The boy stands before her. She vainly searches for similarities between her first student and her current one; he is nothing like her previous pupil, and this fact, while nothing compared to her other pains, is still hurt enough. She cannot sense the selflessness of her previous student, cannot sense the lacking confidence and difficulty in the confliction between two opposite elements. This child, a child of water, can learn earthbending with ease. 

This terrible, horrible child overflows with confidence. His movements are not flighty and unsteady like the previous Avatar's – no, it couldn't have been that simple. This child's motions were steady, composed, certain. She resented the ease at which he adapted to the bending; it didn't seem fair. The Avatar before him had suffered so much difficulty in learning the element, in shaping himself to it, but somehow her newest student flowed too easy between the transition from water to earth. 

He _flowed, _but Spirits, he was steady. The combination was a constant reminder of the fact that this child – this despicable child, however innocent and unknowledgeable – could not learn from her. He should, in all sensibility, but she wasn't sure if she could handle it. She didn't _want _to. Hadn't she suffered enough? Surely the Spirits could spare her this one task, however important. She's already experienced so much – the initial hurt from her parents, the struggle of the war, the death of the Avatar, the loss of her first love to a woman she had never had a hope of competing against…

He pulls forth waves of nostalgia from the depths of her mind, and she hates him, though he knows nothing of this. It isn't his fault; he never chose his fate. The Spirits gave it to him, however, and thus, having his heritage and his parents being themselves, he had earned her hate.

She never says his name. She never even speaks to him, fearing that his voice will sound like his father's; she can hardly stand allowing herself to feel his heartbeat. His stance is steady (_his mother), _he adapts so well _(his father). _Every moment of his existence, every beat of his heart pulls forth memories. Memories that she wanted so bad to hold on to, but then again, that's just it. They were only memories.

She hadn't found it within her ability to refuse his father's request (hearing the man's voice had shocked her; she had been away from him for so long that she would have done anything, and she hadn't realized how much she'd missed him until the moment his mouth opened and a familiar voice – manlier, more experienced, but familiar nonetheless – graced her ears). How could she have ever said no to training the Avatar? Even if she had thought of refusing, she knew he would have wanted her to explain, and she just couldn't.

So she accepted, and every moment she taught him (Spirits, it came so naturally), she wanted to cry. She didn't cry – she hadn't cried in years. It was uncharacteristic of her, was almost blasphemy in her own eyes. Seeing him again had almost brought it out of her – seeing him had made her grasp and pull and struggle for the old days, to bring back everything she'd had back then, but all of her efforts were futile.

Before she began training him she promised herself that she wouldn't cry. No matter what happened, she wouldn't shed a single tear – because it would be like giving the enemy satisfaction. She would feel defeated, as though her own need for events that were beyond her power (beyond her power, how much she'd become accustomed to that!) would be her own undoing.

She'd never forget the first week of training. 

Shino (that was the boy's name; she rarely thought it, and never dared speak it) had yet to be introduced to earthbending, and she found that he faced few obstacles in accomplishing this. He was a natural – she viewed the eased with which he manipulated her element with contempt. He wasn't listening to the earth, but she was afraid of bringing that concept to his mind; he was an eager learner, and probably would have picked up on it quickly, but if she revealed this method of bending to her pupil, she didn't think that anything would be hers anymore.

He was taking everything away from her. He symbolized the very wrenching away of everything dear to her, and if she didn't even have her relationship with the earth – if she had to share it with this silly child, this terrible child – then what did she have? He might as well have taken the very air from her lungs. It would have left her in the same state.

As she taught him, though, she realized that he was intuitive. She hadn't even had to tell him; he was picking up on it all on his own, and while this would have greatly impressed her if he had been any other bender in the world, it made her sick inside. In her, it was innate; it was natural. She had no control over it. She could not quell the tempting voice of the earth, just as any sailor could not quiet the lilting call of the sea. She had always prided herself on how evident her connection with her element was, but now she wished she could conceal it, for she felt violated.

The child believed he was being challenged and reveled in his accomplishments; _she_ was sullen, but had told his father that she would teach him, and she fully intended to stick to her word. 

He practically began to teach himself, to her relief and disdain. She didn't have to give him her method of working with the earth, didn't have to hand it over to him – he took it, and she could do nothing but be a witness. As his skills improved, however – he could see with vibrations; he could sense the earth, had fine-tuned his ears to the voice that resonated beneath his feet – he began to notice things about his sifu (he referred to her as such, though she loathed it).

At the end of the second week, he inquired as to why she was slightly hesitant. He hadn't been able to discern the pause before each move until he acquired the skill of seeing with vibrations. She had frowned and neglected to answer his question, but the child was insistent. 

By the end of the third week he had taken a particular interest in her facial expressions – he could see that when he said something about his mother, she tightened her lips and directed him back to the lesson at hand, and when he said something about his father (which was often, considering how he was his role model), she became glassy-eyed. Once her voice broke (he'd thought nothing of it at the time, chalking it up to her mysterious personality) when she said how much he was like his father – she had been talking to herself, he was sure of it, and yet he listened with sheer pride. He had been too preoccupied with his own feelings to take hers into account.

His training was easy, and he felt confident with his own abilities when a month was over. She was terribly relieved; he promised that he'd keep practicing, and she listened half-heartedly, too upset to really be excited. Relieved that she was finished with the worst torture she'd ever endured, but upset because when he left, his father would, too. He would leave again – and she desperately didn't want him to. They had uprooted her life (not that she'd really had one after the Avatar's death and the break-up of their little group), and then he – he was going to leave. Again.

His last lesson was the most memorable. As time had passed she'd decided that even if he was _their_ son, he was decent; both of his parents always had been, even if she was reluctant to admit this of his mother. She wouldn't really be sorry to see him leave, but she knew that a part of her might miss him, eventually. She would hear of his exploits and be glad that she had at least met him, though he'd more or less trained himself; he would always call her his earthbending sifu, however. He would get good experience along the route to becoming the Avatar, and he would master the element quickly and skillfully; she was vaguely reminded of herself, but he was not her son, and he could not follow in her footsteps (no matter how good he was).

After a month of attempting to figure out his teacher, and deciding that she wasn't all that bad, either, he had a final question. He was always full of them, and Toph didn't mind some, but she hated others; this particular question was her breaking point, however. He asked her why she never seemed to like him – he wondered what it was that he'd done wrong.

She could have snapped at him, but she didn't have the heart. She hadn't been able to reply, actually – a lump had formed in her throat, and she was furious with herself. He noticed that her eyes had become a clear emerald color, purified by the salty liquid that had risen in them and threatened to overflow. 

She never managed to give him an answer; at that moment his father appeared nearby, ready to take him back home from his last lesson of earthbending. She was proud of herself – even when she heard his voice for what she was sure to be the final time, not a single tear fell. She wasn't going to cry. 

Her student, having conflicting ideas about what to do, had hugged her a little awkwardly and hurried off. She was numb – she didn't even realize he'd done it until he was gone, and, faced with emptiness, she realized she'd fooled herself.

There was no one around to see, but she was ashamed. Despite all efforts to hold them back, the tears spilled over, a testament to the leave of the child that, had things happened differently - the way she'd wanted them to - would have been hers.

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_An Embracing Piece_

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Author's Note: The next installment will be posted early (Tuesday, to be exact) because I'll be on vacation next Friday. **Review, please!**


	5. Hallelujah

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_Oneshot 22: Hallelujah_

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The first few hours of victory were the hardest.

The Avatar defeated the Fire Lord. Zuko defeated his sister, but he had yet to take the throne that was rightfully his; there was a lot of controversy, and a lot of nobles were sure to throw their weight around and try to keep Zuko out of power. This would last for weeks, they were all sure; none of it mattered, though. There had only been a few broken hours of peace, and any real effort toward reconstruction had yet to take place. With the fall of the Fire Lord came the cheery celebrations that would sweep the world in the first couple of weeks. The whole world would weep tears of joy, would throw up its hands and yell out tidings of the highest held happiness.

In the midst of it all, there was the Avatar's love for Katara, and there was Katara's love for him in return. That was yet another reason for celebrating. The new era would grow from the first seeds of love between the two, and in love would everything grow and flourish. A new world would be built through reconstruction, and rejoicing and cries of hallelujah would erupt all over until the hearts and minds of all were enveloped in the joy of peace.

It was a nice thought, anyway.

There was, of course, the enormous amount of losses; so many had died. _So many. _It was horrible, terrible – but their lives had been sacrificed for the ultimate cause, and none had died in vain. The Avatar had retaken the world, and that was the goal after all, wasn't it? Lives had been lost. That was inevitable; death brought many to a blunt and cold reality, however. It was difficult. Death always was.

The Water Tribe warrior, the bearer of the Black Sword, the nonbending Sokka that had traveled with the Avatar and seen all four corners of the Earth, was one of the many thrown into that blunt and cold reality. A loved one had died – a friend. A best friend. The very best friend he had ever had.

When it had happened, it had seemed surreal. He'd kept the small bender in the corner of his eye the whole time, never allowing her to leave his peripheral vision; when she had gone down, he hadn't believed it. He had rushed to her, had held her in his arms, had marveled at the small size of the thirteen-year-old. She had been the greatest bender his eyes had ever witnessed, had been the strongest, steadiest person he'd ever known… and then she was gone, just because the Spirits found sick joy in ripping his heart to pieces.

She had helped him cope with Suki's death. She had always been there, through every beautiful and heart wrenching moment during the most difficult times of war; she had been the rock he relied on, and when she was washed downstream by a current stronger than life itself he was left alone, drowning in the rush of water.

She'd been his best friend. He'd always suspected she'd felt something more, as well, but he never ventured into that because he was unsure of how she would react. What if he had been wrong? Just what if? He always figured that if there was a spark between them, if they ever had feelings for each other (it had been painful to think about at first, because of Suki's and Yue's deaths), there would always be plenty of time for that. He would have time to really heal after the first tragic losses and then he would have an opportunity to start over – with her. He'd always figured that they'd have time, all the time in the world.

Her time had run out, however; she'd inhaled her last breath and spoken her last word – and to him, no less. He remembered her voice, heavy and raspy from the intoxication of death; she'd said to him, "I always cared, I swear," and her life had flickered out.

She had died in his arms, had died as he hugged her to him and willed his own life into her, had died while battle raged around them and the world was pitched into the chaos of the war's end. He had clutched her to him until strength left him, and he was numb of his surroundings – he didn't see a battle around him. He saw a battle within himself, and his own sensibility was losing. He couldn't take this! He held onto her; his tears soaked her bloodstained clothes and he asked the Spirits again and again if they would let her come back to him. _Please, _he'd begged, _please, let her come back, take me instead, give her life back, don't do this to me, please…_

Of course, all that had happened hours ago; hours and hours ago. Now the battle was finished, and his arms no longer held his earthbender for dear life. Somehow someone had been able to separate them (his strength had reached its end, and he hadn't been able to hold on any longer), and she was being taken care of somewhere else. He did not think these things, of course. He knew them, but they were tucked away in the back of his mind. He didn't want to think about his own inability to hold on to her, even if she hadn't even been alive.

He had stolen away into a small warehouse; he didn't remember going there. He didn't remember a whole lot between her death and the present moment, but then again, he didn't want to; he wanted to turn back time, wanted to take her place, wanted to be able to do something to make her alive again. He needed these things.

The muffled _crack _and _boom _that accompanied various fireworks went almost completely unnoticed; he could hear cries of joy, of victory, but he did not feel victorious. How could he? How could anyone? Toph had _died. _Didn't they care? Didn't it matter to them that the Greatest Earthbender in the World had just lost her life? Was it even important at all?

He felt a stab in his chest at the notion. Was he the only one who mourned such a tragic loss? Could he really be alone? He _was _alone, he knew, and the idea made a bitter taste rise in his mouth to accompany the salty flavor of tears; after all, it had always been Toph and Sokka. They'd always been together, hadn't they? When Aang and Katara were off doing who-knew-what, there had been _her. _Now she wouldn't be there anymore. Now she was just… gone.

_Gone._

_Dead._

_Cold, broken, spent, lifeless, alone._

Thousands of painful adjectives thrust themselves forward in his mind, and each one made his heart throb with more hurt; he tried to force them out of his mind, but they didn't seem to want to budge. They were inside of him, tainting him; they were controlling him.

He hadn't had reign over his own body for quite some time. That sort of control wasn't what he wanted; he wanted Toph, wanted her to be alive, wanted her to be with him. He wanted to see life in her sightless eyes, but he never would again, and it killed him inside. He did not have the strength to be angry, so he settled for continuing sorrow; really, everything seemed out of his hands. Every single thing he had ever thought he'd controlled was thrust in his face under the harsh reality that he had never had power over anything, not even himself.

The voices of a thousand liberated souls rang in his ears as they yelled and shouted in joy. The world outside was celebrating, but here he was, unable to even lift his head.

_Did any of them really care about her?_

Torrents of tears ran down his face and he attempted to wipe them away with the heel of his hand. "Hallelujah," he whispered, choking on the single, bitter word with cheerful sentiments in any other situation but this. His voice broke and he could never have held back the liquid that endlessly fell from his eyes.

"Hallelujah."


	6. Components

**Author's Note:** I've got three depressingly sad installments saved on my desktop, but I just finished this yesterday and REALLY liked how it turned out. Also, I figured I'd give the series a break and do something a little more light-hearted. :)

**Disclaimer:** If I owned Avatar: The Last Airbender… maybe I would still write fanfiction. You know, under a secret alias or something… anyway, I don't own Avatar: The Last Airbender.

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_**Oneshot 47: Components**_

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"_Happiness comes of the capacity to feel deeply, to enjoy simply, to think freely, to risk life, to be needed." –Storm Jameson_

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**I. To Feel**

She had always believed that bending was everything.

Her element was the ultimate high, the strongest call; it was an extension of everything part of her. It _was _her. There was nothing else, no other connection on Earth that could ever come close. She could recall when Aang was faced with the choice between choosing earthly attachments and unblocking the seventh chakra; they'd all learned the whole story later, and while she knew that the Avatar was deeply in love with the waterbender, how he could throw away something as binding with his bending abilities and as important to the furthering of his Avatar duties had been beyond her.

It _had been, _once.

She had never established any substantial human connections, so she couldn't see the sense in them. She was friends with the Avatar, the waterbender, and the warrior; she even had feelings for the warrior, however much she tried to hide it. After their life-threatening experiences increased in number, she realized that her feelings were growing stronger, and her opinions on human relationships were changing little by little.

The greatest paradigm shift, however, occurred when the warrior's jagged, broken breathing destroyed her tough outer shell and pierced her inner self; his laboring, heavy heartbeat pounded into her skull, and she knew that if he died, she would, too – and if she could give up every thread of that connection between her and her element just to heal him, she knew without a doubt that she would.

It was then when she finally understood what Aang had experienced, and as the life filtered into the warrior from the care with which his sister attended him, the earthbender acquainted herself with her newfound feelings.

**II. To Enjoy**

He'd always thought he'd been a simple guy.

There wasn't a whole lot to Sokka – he was, as he liked to say, just a guy with a boomerang. He _hadn't _asked for any of it – he hadn't asked to find a boy in an iceberg, hadn't asked to go on an epic journey, hadn't asked to fall in love and face tragedy and live, really live for the first time in his life.

Simple Sokka had been wrenched away from his simple life. He'd been thrown into the unknown – he'd be robbed of his comfort zone, and he had no way of returning to it. Every single day was a new path to an entirely different place, every moment he was acquainted with new feelings and experiences and concepts. He was bombarded with so many strange, foreign things – he became them, became someone he didn't even know. It was so complex that he didn't even know what to do with himself. He was sure he'd never be able to grasp that handle of a simple, uncomplicated life again; of course, all of these beliefs belonged to him before he met her. With her acquaintance, these things drastically changed.

His ideas – that no one could ever withstand the experiences of their group, that no one had the capacity to comprehend and live by simplicity when this was all over – might as well have been thrown into the depths of the ocean. When he met her, all the foreign feelings, all the strange experiences, all the new concepts seemed ridiculous, almost silly. What was a comfort zone, anyway? _She _made her own comfort zone – and it was wherever she was, with whatever feeling, experience or concept. She defied sensibility. She defied _a lot_ of things.

She had been caught up in the life of nobles, of wealth and class – but she adapted unnaturally well to the great outdoors. She was hindered by nothing. She allowed _nothing _to come between her and her lifestyle, and her personal lifestyle was very basic: there was her, her bending, and her friends. They were on an epic journey. They were all facing new things, but she remained unchanged because she was stable, simple. She was _Toph._

Then he realized that he _was _a simple guy, and he controlled his life. He could be as simple as he wanted – his feelings, his experiences, the concepts he was faced with could be simple, if he chose that path. Toph was like that. She was as basic as it got – and he liked that.

**III. To Think**

Finding her own voice in the world – that was what Toph had always wanted, from the first fuzzy edges of consciousness that she could recall.

She had been told what to eat, how to walk, where to do this and that… Her life had been strictly dictated by the unwritten household laws of noble families, and she was sick of it from the moment it had all begun. Never had she ever been able to develop an opinion. She had been shut away from the outside world, shuffled into a dark corner where light was never allowed to sway her inevitable ignorance.

Every so often, however, a speck of light found its way to her; she was granted the gift of knowledge, and little by little her awareness of happenings outside of her walls expanded until she was very much conscious of worldly affairs. She heard terms like _war _and _savior _thrown around without a second thought, and such words intrigued her and merely made her yearn to know more.

When the Avatar finally appeared, her mind was thrown in a jumble. Here was the world's so-called _savior, _the silly little boy who was supposed to end a great _war. _The thought of teaching him was surreal – and no matter how much she'd been able to catch in bits and pieces of conversation, she still didn't know quite enough to be particularly opinionated. Her world had thought for her; she'd never had to bother with such things as thinking freely, thinking for herself. The concept was foreign to her – and yet captivating.

Her personality almost _required_ her to be opinionated – and really, she always had been, in her own way. Her mind had simply never expanded to include scenes of her teaching their _savior _and helping to end their _war. _Such things were beyond her imagination. She'd never had to meddle in worldly affairs; those sorts of things were the businesses of her elders, and she busied herself with balancing her private life with her home life. It was what consumed her until she could leave no room for thinking about things that she'd never believed would happen in any of her wildest dreams, honestly.

Then she became _Toph, _and she transformed someone other than just the Blind Bandit. She developed a name for herself; she was _naturally_ opinionated, and her mind explored its new territory eagerly. There was free thinking. There was free will.

Finally she was introduced to the concepts of having friends and living her life without binding ropes; for once in her life she wasn't plagued by thoughts of growing up and marrying for economical interests, living her life as she was considered to be useless. Those thoughts had haunted her dreams, and her reality was fraught with encouragement to associate with this young man or that. It was a horrible, utterly lonely and futile existence.

She'd found meaning in thinking freely, in being on their journey; her blind eyes had been opened and unto them the world was revealed. She wasn't judged; she wasn't told how to live her life. She was _Toph, _and that was perfectly fine.

Particularly, however, she'd found the most freedom in the ability to live her own world as she wanted. Her friends were not chosen for her; she had chosen them, had taken the opportunity of traveling with them. She had been introduced to the new and exciting, and she loved it. She _lived, _for the first time in her life.

She thought for herself. She formed her own outlook on things, began to associate herself with everything and, eventually, realized that she could be attracted to someone that wasn't her parents' choice. She was her own person, right? She wasn't Toph Bei Fong, daughter of a lord and lady. She was just _Toph. _The last name was nothing more than a title that she had no wish to have, and she really, really liked being just Toph – because just Toph could teach the Avatar earthbending, and just Toph could do away with manners altogether. Just Toph could fall for a so-called commoner who wasn't rich or completely snobby, who respected _just Toph _because that's who she was, who liked boomerangs and meat and sarcasm about as much as she liked earthbending, almost.

_Just Toph_ thought for herself, and she really, really liked it that way.

**IV. To Risk**

Sokka had always thought that he'd been a risk-taker.

He figured that it was in his nature; he thought that he'd always been adventurous, and he had, most of his life. Adventurous, however, didn't mean _risk-taking, _and he didn't learn exactly what that meant until much later.

His idea of risk-taking was first redefined when he saw his princess give her life to the moon; the first word that popped in his head was _sacrifice, _because that was exactly what it was, but it was also a risk. Everything was, but when the price was life itself, he was put under the impression that such was the greatest price one could pay for doing something like taking a risk.

His idea of risk-taking was redefined again when his warrior took on the talents of weaponry, defied stereotypes, and showed exactly what it meant to be independent. She was definitely a risk-taker, in Sokka's idea, and she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. It was risky to challenge opinions that were basically shared by the general population, and he admired her for it.

His idea of risk-taking was redefined for the third and final time when he became acquainted with the earthbender. She risked everything – her wealth, her status, her family, her _world – _for the security and desperate desire of freedom, and that showed him that life was a small price to pay when one could give up all of these things for a single burning desire. She'd risked her life countless times, and more than once it had been to save _him; she, _in all perfect honesty, was a _risk-taker. _She was a professional risk-taker, if they had those. She was willing to give up everything for what she knew was hers, for what she knew was oh-so wonderfully right. She risked her life not to give herself away to the world, not to challenge the ways of society (though both could certainly be said for her, if you chose to look at it in such a way). She risked her life for the purpose of_ living_ her life, and that, in Sokka's gracious opinion, was the truest definition of risk-taking. Risking life for things greater was beyond anything he could have comprehended, once, and now that he could, he realized that he would have risked his life for _her, _for the freedom of others, for the greater good of the world.

The profundity of this realization set in, and he marveled at how such a simple, sarcastic and _loud _blind girl like Toph could have evoked such ideas. Then again, she was a whole lot more than that, and perhaps that was exactly the point.

**V. To Be**

Toph had never felt needed.

Her parents had never expressed their love for her, not really. She'd always sort of figured they loved her, because that's just how parents were supposed to be. They were supposed to love her, supposed to want her and need her (and not make her feel useless and incompetent, but that wasn't particularly important when she thought of whether or not her parents _loved _her). They acted as though without her, their lives would be a whole lot better, a whole lot less burdensome. So that's how Toph felt – perhaps they loved her (and perhaps she loved them, though this affection wasn't voluntary and she'd never really decided to love them, it was just how things seemed like they were supposed to be) but perhaps they didn't _need _her. As the two were the only people with which she'd ever had a relationship, she'd never really felt _needed._

Sokka, however, had always felt needed.

He was always loved, had always received affection from his sister and parents and friends, from everyone. Sometimes the affection was earned (a friendly pat on the back from his dad's friend, on occasion), and sometimes it was the mandatory kind that came with strong family ties (like Katara and Gran-Gran, they loved him). They _loved _him, but did they need him? Of course they did. He was the goofy one, the protective big brother, the leader of the tribe when the elders were away. He wasn't a luxury, he was a necessity. He had a place in the world, always found a niche in his environment. He was always loved, even when he and his sister fought (and _everyone _was always mad at him, but he knew they loved him all the same), and even when he did really, really stupid thing (which was often, considering he had stupid tendencies).

So Toph, in all her accomplishments and strength and self-reliance, wasn't truly _needed, _and Sokka, in all his stupidity and innocence and courage and ignorance, was just the opposite.

Toph's state, however, changed when she left her home; she left where she wasn't needed and went to where she was, where she was important as a _great earthbender _and _master of neutral jing _and _instructor for the Avatar _and _friend, _none of which she'd ever dreamed she'd do or get proper appreciation for.

Sokka's state did not change. He still felt needed, still felt unconditional love; he had always been complete, had always been happy. He realized that Toph, never needed, had only just become happy, had only just begun to live, and it prided him to see that she was living, truly. She was becoming needed; she was necessary.

Toph, who had never needed and never been needed, suddenly understood that she needed them (especially the warrior, who had taught her more than she could have learned from anyone else in the world), and they needed her (again, especially him, because what would he do without her, what would have happened if she hadn't saved his life all those times).

Sokka, who had always needed and always been needed, also comprehended that he needed her, though his needs had been few and far between; he did need her, though, because she brought him a sort of twisted equilibrium, and she needed _him _even more, because she'd never had the chance to love (voluntarily, not by accepted standards of society).

_Thus, the earthbender and the warrior found happiness in each other, and that's all they'd ever needed._


	7. To Separate

**Author's Note:** This is crazy. I mean, it pretty much wrote itself – it was out of my hands from the first paragraph. Also, the first is postwar and the second is during the war (because I thought they'd make more sense that way). They're totally, completely different, but contain the same basic theme - separation.

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_Oneshot 45: To Separate_

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She hates to see him go; Fire Lord Zuko has made it so that he must leave her, and she knows – just _knows, _though she can provide no legitimate reason that can explain exactly why – that this could very well be her last moment with him, and it is, if he doesn't come back. He and she are not mere allies; for if this was the case, she would have let him risk his life with nothing more than a second thought, because they would both be risking their lives for the same cause.

No, they were more than allies. They were _friends, _best friends, and had potential for so much more. Why now, at the peak of opportunity, did such fates have to be taken into account? If he died (or even if she died, though she avoided this idea altogether), then what would happen after that?

Her questions went unanswered, and her entire expression (most people merely relied on their eyes to convey emotion, and while Toph was certainly one, she also used other facial features, used her entire body language) pleaded with him not to go. _Just stay. _He could hear the words perfectly, formed by her and received by him; just because her voice wasn't used didn't mean he couldn't hear her perfectly clear.

His pleading expression, in turn, was wasted; she could not see him. But she knew that he had to go, no matter how much she might need him here. There were others, there were battles to fight, triumphs to have – and yet he could see no such things in her eyes, for they saw nothing, least of all vain desires. _Just stay. If only for a moment – just, please, stay._

They were both unaccustomed to this sort of communication – he was Sokka and she was Toph, and they were not supposed to rely on each other like this. In a friendly way, in an allied way, absolutely – but not this needing that gnawed within him to stay with her, and not this care for him, these questions about _What _or _Why _or _How _that shouldn't have come with thoughts of his death, but thoughts of the continuing of their lives. As friends. As maybe more.

He touched her hand, and the warmth made her fingers tingle and the butterflies erupt in her stomach. Then, without any warning, he kissed her – and what else could she do but kiss him back?

He pulled away (_far too early_) and murmured something that sounded quite like _I'll see you soon, _though his voice was muffled by the sound of her own intense heartbeat.

_I'll see you soon._

And he did.

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The first thing she understood about the situation was the sound of his voice.

She wasn't even quite sure what he said, but that wasn't important. The only thing that made a difference was his _voice _and the hope that welled inside of _her_, the positive knowledge that everything would be okay that brimmed and quite nearly overflowed. She, in wooden chains (rope and timber had the potential to work well together, to her great dismay), had been at a loss for what to do: Cut off from human contact, kept away from everyone so that she could torment no one with her incessant rebelliousness…

And there was his voice, flowing into her. She only had a second to bask in the pleasure that it brought her, that beautiful, remarkable sound; then she realized what was going on as her mind began to decipher words, however muffled and broken. Her heart beat faster with understanding, and her body shivered and she grew nauseous.

Because _he _was going to surrender himself in exchange for _her._

The idea was almost childlike. It was too much like a fairytale, one without a happy ending, if such a thing existed. She needed to be with him: if she couldn't be near him, then being out there was just the same as staying where she was. In fact, she would feel better if he stayed out there; that way he would be safe, and despite the aches in her muscles and the pain in her spirit she would find peace in her knowledge of his safety.

No, of course not. Nothing could ever work out the way she wanted it to. She could never find internal peace because there was always something gnawing at her – her parents' restrictions, the pressures of war, and now the sick idea that he would be suffering and she would be perfectly okay. The concept that he was saving her briefly crossed her mind, for surely that was what pounded in his; she dismissed it, however, because while he would be saving her in all sensible ways, there was the insensibility of her affection for him, and he would only hurt that all the more.

She avoided the thought that he was strong, too – much more so mentally than she. She knew that he was _strong_, but the mental torture of loneliness was sure to eat away at his mentality until he was nothing, nothing but a skeleton draped with skin. She hated any idea of his pain; her pain was nothing to her. He felt the same way, for his own pain was insubstantial to the point that it had stopped being important long ago. What he did was for the sakes of others; the war had taught him much, and so had the Avatar, if he ever cared to admit that.

Then she heard a door open, and she was nearly dragged out of the wooden cell. There was a clatter of voices, some she knew and some she didn't; however, her knowledge of them held little importance because they all had the same skin-crawling effect on her.

Then, for the briefest moment, there was a voice whose sound had no such dreadful quality, though her mind crawled with fear. There he was – there was her warrior, giving himself up for her safety. The safety of a girl whose future didn't matter – she didn't have a family to return to! She didn't have a sister who loved her, didn't have a father waiting at home for the safe return of his child, didn't have a close spiritual connection with the moon that lit up the night sky. There was Sokka, who had all of those things – and giving them all up for _her! _She, without a home; she, without a family; she, without a grandmother's love, or a single moment in time where she truly felt like she had a place where she belonged. She had _nothing _but her bending and the clothes on her back, and who was she? Who was she to ask so much of someone who had all of these things, who had everything to go back to?

She had the companionship of the waterbender and the Avatar, which was more than she had ever been able to say; it was more than she would have ever fathomed asking. Who exactly was she to rob his family of the chance to see him again, if only for one last time? She couldn't feel the worth that she should have felt in order to believe that his absence was remotely justified; there was nothing, nothing that could ever bring the idea of his trading his fate for hers to a minutely comforting conclusion.

Then she heard his voice, and he was speaking to her. This revelation snatched her from the depths of her mind and she clung to the words that left his lips as though without their support she might fall into a bottomless hole. The guard holding her up, off of the ground, paid little attention to how she flailed, trying desperately to escape and approach him, if only to just barely allow her fingertips the slightest brush of his warrior attire –

- and there it was again. His voice, and she could make out words this time. "-off me! Not so tight!" Then she almost _felt_ his eyes shift to her, and suddenly there were two guards holding her, one on each side. "At least take those wooden planks off her feet! Toph, are you okay?"

Her throat tightened as she prepared to respond, and she struggled against her captors with renewed vigor. "I'm fine!" she managed to assure him. "Sokka, don't do this – why did you…?"

His answer arrived at his tongue before he had a chance to think it through. "Because I couldn't take it, knowing you were in here," Sokka told her, biting his tongue almost immediately after the words passed through his lips. He hadn't wanted to say that – he'd wanted something else, something with different, less meaningful implications…

Toph inhaled sharply and felt that painful bruises would form when she was free of her captors. She struggled violently, passionately. "But you shouldn't have surrendered yourself for _me," _she almost scolded. "I could have – I can take care of myself, I could have escaped…"

The false statement tasted bitter on her tongue. _I could have escaped. _She had been scheduled for execution – it had been against Azula's wishes, for she was in charge of the whole arrangement, but her second-in-command had decided that Toph was too dangerous to keep alive for longer than absolutely necessary. She wouldn't have escaped – both because they would have killed her off too early (attempting to extract information from her was futile, and while using her as a bargaining tool was tempting, they ended up coming away with the authority of the Water Tribe warrior's life) and no matter how much time she'd had inside of that cell, she couldn't have slipped from the binding wood and rope – she had been powerless, utterly helpless.

She knew that Sokka's wise eyes would reflect his sorrowful knowledge of the falsity of her claims, and she longed to see it; she longed to see _him, _for the first time and last. He would be gone – forever. She also knew, with the assurance of the cold fear that iced over her heart and sent shivers throughout her entire body, that the Fire Nation wouldn't be intending a fair trade. Aang and Katara wouldn't, either – that would be stupid; that would be naïve.

Toph considered what their plan might be and decided that no matter what they did, it would fail. Toph getting captured in the first place was a mistake – that was a fatal error. Sokka had been impulsive, determined not to lose someone else, not again (he couldn't handle the weight of another person's fate on his shoulders!). He had been ready to give himself up, had been prepared for an exchange – and the quick-thinking Fire Nation had accepted, devising a plan.

He would surely be executed after only a day. They knew that as soon as they could come up with a strategy, the Avatar and his remaining companions would attempt to rescue the warrior; in order to not only decrease the Avatar's group but to also eliminate a key enemy of the Fire Nation and of the very Fire Lord Ozai, death would be a given.

Toph could no longer hear Sokka's voice. She was outside; she could feel sunshine on her face, could feel the wind.

She was thrown to the ground. Almost immediately, the Fire Nation soldiers in the compound stormed out, ready to take back their previous captive plus the other two who had come to get her. Katara and Aang, however, had planned for this and were likewise prepared. Each side began to attack one another with such force and strength that the outcome was not clear at first, could not be theorized just yet…

Toph was useless. She was severely weakened by her recent poor living conditions and, more significantly, her lack of physical contact with her element. Until she could feel it again – not with her feet because of the wooden planks, but with her hands, mostly – she had not realized how much it had affected her, but now that she was reunited… she realized how drained she truly was, how empty, how lost.

Perhaps Aang and Katara had been depending on her contributions for their small battle to be a success, but if that was the case, then they had sorely miscalculated. Almost every soldier stationed at that site was fighting them (Toph could have sworn it was thousands, though she could hardly distinguish one man from another); the Avatar and waterbender were driven back.

Suddenly, by some miracle – through the raging noise of the fight – Toph's ears perked at _his _voice. How she could hear him, she might never know; it was as though there was no distance between them, no fight or sound or anything – his voice reached her perfectly, and she clung to it, needing it.

She couldn't mistake the words – _I'll see you soon. _She could not feel his heartbeat, could not measure his breathing; she knew, however, by the wavering in his voice (utterly impossible to catch, but she did) that he had as much faith in these words as she. She fell into those words, needing their truth. They were falling back, the Avatar would save her and they would escape… all the while she would hold on to the last words she ever heard him say, by some miracle of the Spirits or some other force altogether.

_I'll see you soon._

But he didn't.

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Author's Note: I'm amazed at how this turned out – it isn't remotely like what I was going for. I'm happy with it, all the same, but I'm pretty surprised, to be honest. The ending was almost a mess to me at first, but I warmed up to it because the oneshot isn't about what was happening in the background – it was about Toph and Sokka. I did my best to clean up what I could, though.

The history that precedes each part is different and is purposefully vague; they're two separate instances with two separate histories where each has a different outcome.


	8. Perfect Strangers

Oneshot 30: Perfect Strangers

Author's Note: I feel iffy about this one. I really like it, except there's this one part I could never quite work out… well, you all know Toph is blind, but I really liked what I had going here and I tried to work that in as best I could… I'm barely coherent right now, so I'll just let you read. :) I am perfectly aware that Toph is blind, however, so I'd rather you not remind me.

Based (loosely) off the song _White Flag, _by Dido. Lovely song. I don't happen to own it, nor do I own Avatar: The Last Airbender.

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_Oneshot 30: Perfect Strangers_

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_And when we meet, which I'm sure we will,_

_All that was there will be there still_

_I'll let it pass, and hold my tongue – _

_And you will think that I've moved on…_

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Toph brought the piping hot tea to her lips; it was a cleansing, renewing experience. She tipped back the cup and the liquid spilled down her throat, and she invited it, loving the memories that entered her with the simple cup of tea.

The tea was Jasmine, a favorite of her good friend Iroh. She hadn't seen him in quite some time; of course, when she thought _that_ she really meant that it had been a while since she'd visited his grave. The kindly old man had barely lived long enough to see the war's end; he had seen his nephew crowned Fire Lord, however, and to that man it meant the world.

Her fingers lightly brushed the engraved symbols around the cup's brim; they were Water Tribe, and she was terribly fond of running her fingers over them. She had learned the symbol long ago – she knew the emblem so well that it might as well have been inscribed in her mind, and her heart. She would never forget it, not if she lived to be a million years old and never got to run her fingers over one ever again.

Drinking tea in Aunt Ai's Tea Shop was a sort of ritual to her. She did it every anniversary of the Avatar's victory, in proper remembrance. She had found it difficult to keep in touch with Aang, Katara, Zuko, and Sokka; they were her closest friends, and she often had trouble getting others to write letters for her. Their visits had been regular, at first, but eventually, after the period of five years, had begun to occur only two or three times a year; the Avatar's schedule was terribly busy, after all, and Katara had taken to traveling with him and helping him with whatever he needed. Zuko was Fire Lord, so of course he had no time away; Sokka was busy, too – he was an important Water Tribe councilman and, while he did his share of field work, he couldn't seem to slip away from his duties for a day or two for a small reunion. Everyone was engaged in prestigious jobs, and Toph? Well, her first idea had been opening up a small earthbending academy. Soon after going through with this idea she realized just how much she hated other people's children, especially those of nobles; she nearly had to earthbend one child's mother into the Fire Nation because of the mother's taking up for her child's sickeningly bratty behavior. Toph had little mercy for arrogant children who hadn't been raised correctly, and thus, that career path wasn't for her.

Her second idea was proving much more successful; she had returned to the thrill of the Earth Rumble tournaments. Those winnings were enough for her to get by on – some guys made her generous offers for only a few pointers, but Toph would share her secrets with no one except the Avatar, and that was that. She was resolute in her decision not to train any of her opponents because, aside from the fact that she would be sharing her secrets, showing your adversaries how to beat you was possibly to stupidest move Toph could imagine.

She hadn't even thought of settling down, really. It might have been the life for her, once, if she had ever fallen in love; and if that had been the case, then her love hadn't been returned, and so she was shut away from the lifestyle of building a home and instead built a bigger and better name for herself. Instead of aiming to raise productive members of society and be a good mother and wife, she aspired to die a legend; they would talk of her for centuries, and her name would be forever stored in people's memories until the stories were twisted and all of her hard work was credited to another. So what if she didn't pass along her genes?

She took another few swallows of her tea and before she knew it, the cup was empty. She hurried up to the counter and the young woman refilled it without accepting Toph's payment for the new glass; the girl recognized Toph – not as the Blind Bandit, but as the companion of the Avatar. Toph did not know how the girl knew of her, though, and simply dropped the single coin back into the satchel at her waist.

Toph made her way back to the table and restrained herself from draining all of her tea immediately. The Jasmine was sweet and comforting to her tongue, but she held back, keeping completely controlled. Instead, she focused on breathing and thought to lift up her feet so that the constant footfalls in her vision wouldn't disrupt the tranquility. As she made to lift up one of her feet, however, she stopped, mystified.

Among the thumping hearts, the scattered breathing, the group of feet, she found recognition in one. It was such a fierce rarity that she recognized someone, and never had she not expected this person – for she had never visited him, or vice versa, without prior knowledge, and their paths never crossed while they engaged in their respective activities. He was with someone – someone that again she recognized, though the thud in her heart that this person caused was not owed to longing, but a brooding irritation and long-lost anger; and _his _breathing patterns and heartbeat sent within her a swirl of nostalgia and love and need while _hers _evoked a sense of bitter disdain.

Perhaps if she allowed her bangs to shield her face they wouldn't recognize her. With this comforting thought, she pulled out the pin in her hair that had held her bangs back and let them hang loosely, freely, a curtain of pitch that made the world divert its eyes. She found herself thinking that maybe, just maybe, her bangs might hide not only her eyes but her shame at still feeling such pitiful emotions – such feelings! Feelings that one such as she should never have, emotions that she should have let go of long ago.

They had entered the tea shop, and then, quite at ease, they approached the counter. He ordered for both of them, and his voice, while much deeper and defined, still made a twang of longing resound within her, and she would have recognized it anywhere. He ordered Jasmine tea for both of them as well; the idea of him drinking it made her heart ache worse, and she tried in vain to quell that stupid, silly feeling. The idea of _her_ drinking it, however, made her blood boil. Can't she even have a simple cup of tea? Was that too much to ask?

Then she heard _her _voice mention something about a table, and Toph could feel his eyes sweep the room. She knew when he spotted her because his heart paused for a precious moment, and then his heart raced. Toph couldn't help it: he deserved it, for everything he'd done. She tucked her bangs behind her ear, carefully turned her head, and locked blind eyes with blue; it was uncanny, unnatural – and entirely unfair. She thought his heart might burst from his chest.

Since that fateful day where she confessed her feelings, where he learned how she felt – where they _all_ learned how she felt, including _her – _he'd had enough sense to never bring them together purposefully. All reunions were performed when _she _was still at their home in the Southern Water Tribe, even if Toph herself should have gotten over her silly feelings quite some time ago. Toph briefly remembered his constant excuse of never being able to get away from work, and fleetingly, for that continuing moment in time, she felt cheated. He was supposed to be at work, and here he was with _her. _Some job.

And, quite suddenly, their eyes disconnected, and their shared "stare" was broken. It did not matter that she couldn't see him. She could feel him, every heartbeat, every breath, every smallest movement, and she could feel what her _gaze_ did to him and what his did to her; and now he looked away from her, pointedly, like he was afraid of meeting her eyes once more.

_She _listened to him for a moment, and then _she _briefly nodded, and they walked past her table without so much as a backward glance.

Thus, in one of the final occurrences where their lives intertwined, Sokka of the Water Tribe and Toph Bei Fong acted as though they had not been best friends, had not traveled with the Avatar, had not fought a war. In fact, with the exception of the single moment in time where their eyes met and their hearts flew of their own accords, they were, quite simply, perfect strangers.

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_I will go down with this shame_

_I will not put my hands up and surrender_

_There will be no white flag above my door_

_I'm in love, and always will be_

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	9. Connection

Oneshot 2:

Author's Note: I apologize in advance for the sore lack of happiness. I have yet to complete a happy one (I'll start, and I'll brainstorm, but nothing particularly productive seems to come of that), but I promise that next week will be a lot more light-hearted. Just, you know, thought I'd warn you in advance. :)

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_Oneshot 2: Connection_

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He stares at her.

He stares at the thick, clear tears welling up in her sightless eyes, threatening to fall – but somehow she manages to hold them back.

His eyes travel to her various wounds – her body is red, black, purple, and blue, and he's sure he can see hints of other colors, though they are slight and almost unrecognizable in the moonlight. Great red gashes cover her arms and legs, many still relinquishing blood, though at a steady ooze instead of a heavy gush of thick redness. Sores, welts – all sorts of wounds litter her body. Her face and hands are bruised. He would assume the same of her feet, if they hadn't held a steady red hue from being burned.

He wants to approach her, but he is afraid that touching her will only cause her more pain. She seems to stare at the sky, scarcely flinching as his sister coos barely audible words of comfort while applying various medicines to assist her patient in the healing process – water alone wouldn't be enough, even in the hands of the most experienced healer, let alone an amateur like herself.

He knows that somehow her bending has been stolen from her – otherwise, she wouldn't look this bad, would've put up too great a fight to be so injured, so hurt.

Her strength is striking – she doesn't even allow a single tear to spill from her eyes. How terrible the pain must feel, and how infuriating it must be to not relieve any of it. Not a word, not a cry, not even the tiniest _tear. _Because it is only okay to show vulnerability at certain times, and suffering from physical pain is not one of them – that's what he believes she thinks. He wants to tell her that it's all right, that pain is nothing to be ashamed of (he's sure she's ashamed of it), but he is silent, regarding her with a slight mystification.

He lifts a hand to reach out to her, but he allows it to fall back to his side. The motion goes unnoticed.

The Avatar is somewhere else, somewhere close but not in sight – he cannot bear the sight of her. This is not because of the severity of her wounds, but because he feels that her pain is his fault; he has a habit of making everything his burden, but this time perhaps he _could_ have had a hand in preventing her hurt. This fact isn't spoken, but it is known by them all.

The waterbender – the healer – turns to her brother for the first time, acknowledges his existence. Her expression is grim, but not plagued with the shadows of lost hope, and unspoken words pass between them.

She does not want to leave, but she needs a break, her patient needs a moment, and she feels compelled to comfort the airbender. Perhaps the last of her reasons is the predominant one with which she performs the action of leaving the warrior and patient alone, but it does not matter _why; _he is glad of it anyway.

Her eyes stay open. This is how he knows she is awake; she is also able to move (but just), and she can speak. Her motions would be painful, and any words she found herself able to utter would be broken and strained from the ache at the base of her throat, but she does not need to talk. Movement, however – movement is another matter altogether.

She tries to get up, and he doesn't stop her. Finding that it hurts immensely, she lays down again; a soft sigh escapes her. It is a sound of the deepest despair, and for the first time since he started watching her, for the first time since he has seen her rescued and brought into camp by his sister and the airbender, her face betrays emotion.

She bites her lip, and, sitting up just a little – he adjusts the modest pillow-type thing upon which his sister had set her head -, she gently touches the rough edges of the earthen bed the Avatar quickly whipped up for her. The waterbender had been against it, claiming that it would be uncomfortable, but she had stopped speaking at a simple shake of the earthbender's head (the girl had shuddered with the effort with which she'd made the motion), and a stone bed had been made.

Her small fingers delicately trace the edge of her "bed," and she frowns, just ever-so-slightly. He notices that her ankles twitch, and he knows that she wants to stand, wants to be supported by her feet. The heaviness with which she blinks – slowly, sadly – and the cumbersome turning of her head in the direction away from him sends shivers down his spine.

Finally, he sees a single tear escape her. It trails slowly down her face, almost lazily, like it is aware that it is a symbol and it doesn't want to disappear too quickly.

He knows that it isn't from the incredible pain she surely feels, or from any memories of acquiring her wounds. He is sure – completely, utterly sure, irrationally and illogically sure – that the tear is an expression of her sadness for the loss of her bending, for the loss of her sight, and he is shaken to his very core.

He has rarely ever been intuitive regarding women, and never regarding _her, _but the strength of her bond with her element is evident to him almost immediately upon the release of that single drop of sadness; how anyone could ever be ignorant of her love of her bending, he has no idea.

Her blindness has caused her to hone her skills and develop that strong connection with her element. With the loss of her bending (surely the work of that chi-blocker, however she had been involved) came the loss of sight, the loss of understanding, the loss of that _connection. _Speech couldn't reflect her feelings, not as accurately as she would have liked. Not that she would ever be willing to _say _anything like that, if ever the chance even occurred.

His eyes look upon her with the deepest sadness. He has no bending, no connection, no anything like that. Perhaps that simply makes him impervious to one more hurt – bending can never be taken from him. How can he focus on this aspect of his non-bending state, though, when there is always the fact that there is perhaps a part of him missing, unfulfilled; maybe there is a part of him that hungers for something more out of life, something more than just the limbs attached to his body. Maybe, just maybe, there is a part of him that yearns for an extension of himself, a part of him that desires the ability to bend. That part of him will always hunger, always yearn and lust and desire, and he will forever be unable to satisfy it. This idea leaves him empty; he feels like he should be angry, but there is no conviction, and all traces of bitterness ebb away.

He gazes at her, and he knows that she is lost in a blunt darkness. No fuzzy images, no broken sights, just a simple darkness. He believes that he would surely go mad if he was in her situation, and every moment that he spends with her in her damaged state, he gains respect for her. He can see her mature. _She has_, he thinks – he doubts that she had ever been able to while living with her parents, and he is glad to have been a part of her growth so far.

He takes her hand. It is an almost unconscious movement, and he is surprised at his audacity; he sees her eyebrows shoot up in surprise, but otherwise she makes no move to show that she even knows he's alive.

When he squeezes her hand gently, though, he feels her squeeze back.

The memory of her tear springs forward in his mind. There is no trace of it now, no sign on her face that any such thing happened, but he knows that he did not imagine it. It is permanently engraved in his mind; it has earned its right to a place in his memories, among those of Suki, Yue, his mother, his home.

He knows that her tough exterior is a façade. Sure, she's _tough_ – but not cold, heartless, apathetic. She's rough around the edges, but not all the way through, and he knows that this fact is easy to miss. Her connection with her element has given her the emotion that her parents never had. Perhaps if they had been earthbenders, things would have been different, and she might have turned out as another person. He is glad with how things have gone, though, because if anything had changed, he isn't sure that he would be standing with her now, and despite everything, he wouldn't readily give up this moment for the world.


	10. Reasons

Oneshot – Strength in Falling – 51 – Reasons

Author's Note: Well, it's not "sad," so I count it as "happy." It's a week overdue, and I apologize for that; also, this felt a little rushed and pressed. I just thought I ought to let you know. :)

Disclaimer: I don't own Avatar: The Last Airbender.

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_Oneshot 51: Reasons_

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"Why?"

The single word needed no introduction; the earthbender knew precisely what the waterbender was asking. They were alone again, and when such circumstances occurred, the waterbender often took advantage of the private time in order to engage in feminine conversation with her companion. The earthbender was not as thrilled about this "privacy" because she always felt like she was prey being backed into a corner. It was a wholly discomforting idea, to think of the situation in such a way, but it did offer a little insight into her predominantly apprehensive attitude during these sorts of things.

In simply asking _Why, _the waterbender meant _Why do you like my brother? _It was a fact that her younger companion had revealed to her recently and, while she'd always had her suspicions, the idea did take some getting used to. Since the earthbender had confessed to her, she'd given the whole ordeal a good bit of thought but for the life of her couldn't completely grasp the _why. _

She didn't seem to be the sort of person to like someone as inept as her brother; he wasn't a bender. He was funny, granted, and most girls thought he looked good, but humor alone shouldn't have been enough to evoke feelings, and what did _she _care for looks, anyway?

The earthbender thought about the question, but she could think of no honest answer. There were tons of things she could say, but nothing would be _the _reason, because there was no particular reason. It's just… how it happened. Of course, his ridiculous eccentricities, innovative ideas, and bountiful sarcasm weren't exactly ignored; she liked those things, truly, but they just weren't why.

She liked the warrior because he was simple. She liked him because he could appreciate her – she liked him because her blindness was nothing but a mindless characteristic to him, like her hair color or her arm length. It was nothing else – not a handicap, not a barrier, not an obstacle. She liked him because he saw her as a friend, as an equal, and treated her like one. She liked him because… well, because he was strong. Because he was brave. Because he took on obstacles as new opportunities and overcame the discouragement that accompanied challenges.

She liked him because he was different, because she'd never seen or heard anything like him before – he didn't go around acting like something he wasn't. He was as genuine as it got.

How could she say all of that?

How could she understand - she, the one who couldn't draw her own conclusions as to her companion's reasoning?

How could she admit all of this to his sister – how could she reveal all of these personal, deeper reasons that she didn't even know quite how to put into words without sounding ridiculous… how could she? How was it possible?

She decided that she couldn't. She could try to word her feelings, but she would fall short and fail because words couldn't do them justice – especially not when she was answering a specific question. It wouldn't feel right – wouldn't _be_ right.

She shrugged, because making futile attempts at trying to explain would have been stupid. It was the safest way out of the situation in which she'd been placed, and she took it.

"You've got to have a reason," she pressed, her voice brimming with certainty.

"Well, I don't."

"Why do you like him?" she tried again.

The earthbender shrugged again. "I just do," she said simply, and the waterbender could tell from the way the words were said that the topic was meant to be dropped. She knew that she could try as long as she pleased, but she would receive no results. It was a simple sort of thing, an easy idea to grasp and understand.

Katara nodded slowly. Perhaps she would try to pry the answer out of her another time…


	11. Story

Oneshot 38: Story

Author's Note: So as not to get further behind on updates, I've decided to post two today. I've already written something similar to this, but the other piece is its own oneshot, is written when the characters are their same ages… etc. This takes place years after the war, so the situation is completely different. Anyway. I'm just… addicted to the "unknown soldier" thing.

Disclaimer: I don't own Avatar: The Last Airbender.

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_Oneshot 38: Story_

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Every life taken on the battlefield has a history.

Every unmarked body was someone, even if they can't be identified.

Every man and woman who gave his or her life to a cause greater than themselves had someone at home, awaiting the return of a loved one that would never come.

These great warriors are called unknown soldiers, and this is the story of one.

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Years following the war, peace had still not settled on the Earth. Rebellion after rebellion sprang up in the Fire Nation, and ties between this nation and the other two were severed to the point that repairs would take ages. Trade was broken and the Earth Kingdom and Water Tribes still harbored ill feelings toward the Fire Nation, despite the reign of a new leader.

This story is about a soldier who lost his life during the Great Rebellion, the mother of all uprisings. It had many leaders, and no one knew their identities; they raided Fire Nation towns, killed supporters of the New Age, and destroyed whatever monuments to the new era they could get their hands on. Their final attempt at overthrowing the ruler would be made during a siege on the Fire Lord's palace, and they planned to assassinate the ruler then and there. They were regarded as nothing more than barbarians, but were taken seriously; they were a force to be reckoned with, however unorthodox they were.

A member of the Southern Water Tribe found out when the siege was to be held. He was a close acquaintance of the Fire Lord himself and specialized in strategic planning; he was an essential asset to the Fire Lord's forces. Because of this man the ruler was prepared for the worst, and he was allowed enough time to amass an army that would put any mere rebellion to shame.

This did not go unnoticed by the rebels, and they naturally assumed that somehow the Fire Lord had found out about the date of attack. They believed that they were stronger, however – they thought that because they were fueled by the desire for the Fire Nation to once again be the single world power, they could win. They were proud, they were strong – and they were ready, and so the date was not changed.

The Fire Lord's army was great. There were members from all three nations; there were benders and non-benders alike, men and women, old and young (though not too young, of course – none younger than sixteen). It was staged nearly ten years following the war, and since the nations had all experienced a mere taste of the peace that would come, they were eager to quell the rebels and destroy their inner fires. Each side fueled itself with conviction, but each side was not equally strong. The rebels believed they could make up for it. The Fire Lord's army did not.

There was one man who was one of the primary leaders in the Fire Lord's forces. This is the man around whom this story takes place; he was, without a doubt, one of the most essential soldiers – for it was he who gathered the information about the date of the siege, and it was he who, in the midst of battle, fought one of the highest ranking men in the rebel army.

Both were non-benders and were evenly matched in strength, but brute strength was not the key to their fight; the secret to winning was skill, and the young Water Tribe soldier who fought for the Fire Lord was not lacking in that area. His swordsmanship was unmatched; his weapon, made of mysterious minerals, was as black as the darkest night, and all who laid eyes upon it were stricken with fear in the very core of their hearts, for fate was unkind to all whom the man fought.

It had never been a contest. The rebel went down and the Water Tribe warrior was unscathed; he knew nothing of the fact that he had killed the man whose task it was to lead a few men into the palace, past the guards, and into the Fire Lord's chambers; his attempt would have been unsuccessful, but he certainly would have done more than his share of destruction.

The black sword was lodged in the abdomen of its first victim. The warrior needed more strength than he should have to wrench it out, but he finally did; his back had been turned, however, and a rebel firebender, recognizing the color of the weapon in the firelight, shot a blast of fire at the bearer of the famous black sword.

The shot surprised the warrior, but he was not altogether unprepared for such an attack; he'd braced himself for it and took the hit, then, scattering drops of the enemy's blood on the ground as he did so, jerked around and made for his attacker.

The warrior hated the way they fought. They had no grace, no style to them at all; they just attacked, without having a real purpose or plan beforehand. The man who had shot the small fireball backed away in surprise and, deathly afraid, conjured and launched as large of a blast of fire as he found within his power to do. His fear made him miss the target, however, and the bearer of the black sword ended his life.

Two kills - and the rebellion had only just begun. The warrior was doing well. He turned and, through the thick black smoke, saw another opponent. His newest adversary easily overestimated his own skill and thought himself to be better than the black sword bearer – a belief that would soon be shattered by the one weapon universally revered by all who wielded a sword.

The men who fought in the name of the Fire Lord were easily overtaking the rebel army. The rebels had tough exteriors but, at their hearts, there was the most disgraceful form of cowardice; therefore they would, in the end, retreat with the remaining survivors.

Hours passed and soldiers fought on. Many were becoming too exhausted to continue; this happened on both sides. There were more casualties on the side of the rebels, and it was suspected that they would retreat within the hour. The bearer of the black sword had yet to meet a man who could stand against the weapon, so great was his skill.

He had just engaged in a one-on-one fight with one of the more talented rebels. Perhaps this thought was merely because he was slightly fatigued, but either way, it was the most challenging fight since the rebellion had begun. At first they seemed equally matched, but the Water Tribe warrior was a moment quicker, and that made all the difference. However, just as he broke his opponent's defense and armor and struck him hard in the chest, another man took up fighting with the warrior. Then another, and the first man wasn't yet dead – and the warrior was fighting three men at once, his fatigue disappearing behind a thin veil of fear that tightened around his gut.

The odds were despicably unfavorable. The Water Tribe warrior fought the golden-eyed rebels with every bit of strength and skill he could find within himself; he didn't have to think about fighting – it was something that came naturally, something he could do as easily as breathing, if he needed to – and so his thoughts were free to half-wander to other things. He focused on the battle, sure, but his mind began to entertain thoughts of his new wife, of his not-yet-born child.

She had wanted to come. She had wanted more than anything to be a part of the quelling of the Great Rebellion, and he knew it. She had threatened him, bribed him, pleaded with him – and of course, all of her efforts had been in vain because they both knew that in the end she just couldn't go. She could have, but it would have been too dangerous for the unborn baby; it was a risk that neither was really willing to take, despite how badly she'd wanted to fight. It was natural to her, too – she reveled in battling just as he did, and perhaps, just perhaps, she found more joy in it.

They had each had duties, however; and those duties were fulfilled, no matter how painful they were. She had been denied a great desire, and he had been torn away from his family with the purpose of fulfilling obligations he had to his country and to the welfare of the world.

Questions began to form in his mind – questions that, he pondered, may never be answered. Questions like _Will she have the baby while I'm gone? _and _Will it look like her?_ He wanted more than anything to see his child, and because of this desire, he became strong. The strength of need poured into his body and he used those reserves with relish.

His enemies went down. All three, in a bittersweet way, were dead; to his own dismay he'd had to behead one of them, but it had been the only way. Another had completely lost an arm; blood flooded out of the wound, pulsating from the artery – the warrior diverted his eyes, as he was driven by duty and not for the lust of killing. It was a terrible thing to do, he knew, because murder was never a _good_ thing; but sometimes it was a necessary thing, and this was how he viewed his actions.

Another man attacked him, and another. It almost felt like sport, but that was a sickening thought. The warrior viewed the entire battle as almost _unfair. _How could these inexperienced barbarians even fathom overtaking the Fire Lord's civilized army? Well, perhaps_ inexperienced_ was the wrong word; ignorant was better. Either way, the rebels could not stand a chance – yet they'd lasted for nearly four hours, which greatly surprised the Water Tribe man.

Quite suddenly, a rather skilled firebender sent a shot toward the warrior. It was, once again, a man who sought to destroy the man with possession of the practically legendary black sword. This man, however, had held up well in battle; he was eager for the fight, whereas the Water Tribe warrior was tired enough to no longer find any thrill in combat. He did fight, however; it was never a question of that.

The firebender was too far away to be good use of as a target; he wasn't fighting fair, but then, that wasn't really expected of him. There was no such thing as a fair fight, however nice the phrase might sound. The warrior was no stranger to the strategy of firebenders, however, and easily dodged, moving as fluidly as though not a single muscle in his body ached in earnest for rest. He conformed to his environment and used every tree and boulder to his advantage; they were at the boundary between battlefield and forest, which the warrior found absurdly advantageous on his part.

The firebender, finding that the bearer of the black sword was too quick to even so much as graze him with a flame, decided that he must use his other weapons. Just as the warrior was accustomed to firebender strategy, however, the firebender was accustomed to depending on his sword for battle. The Water Tribe man learned this quickly and decided that now things might get interesting.

As each moved to strike, his adversary easily parried; the warrior considered briefly that he might lose, but the thought was so strange and so unwelcome that he immediately gained energy, though he didn't know how much he had left in him. His weapon, however, was an extension of himself, and however much energy he lost, his opponent merely regarded his sword as just that – a weapon. It was nothing more than a tool.

One move brought the two incredibly close together. The warrior could smell the firebender's ragged breath and frowned at the way the man inhaled; the warrior knew he was wearing the firebender down, but he was sure that the man could very well think the same thing about him.

And then, after a single instant, they were apart; but the warrior could not find any strength at all to move and, finally registering the pain, realized what the man had done.

While they had been close, the man had quickly and expertly unsheathed a dagger and stabbed the warrior in the back, quite literally. There was so much pain… it was his undoing. Such a low move, such a sneaky, disgustingly vile attack – if he had been able to feel anything, he would have felt shame at being vanquished in such a way. This was another instant.

The firebender would surely steal away his weapon; there was no question about it, but the sword was nothing. Nothing compared to the pain that wracked the warrior's body; and that, in turn, was nothing compared to his pure anguish at the realization that the last time he had seen his wife had been just that – the last time. As his own life drained, and the lights in his brain dimmed, the last thing that occupied his thoughts was the color of his wife's beautiful pale green eyes and the desperate hope that his child might inherit his heart.

The firebender, the murderer of one of the few men who had made the biggest difference in the war's outcome, was ruthless and loved war and violence and death. He charred the face of the man to whom the black sword truly belonged; he burned every exposed piece of flesh and relished the odor. Then he robbed the man of the legendary black sword, and he continued to fight for the remaining minutes of the battle.

-

The black sword was recovered; the wife herself pried it from the bones of the dead thief, his body having lost its life to a dagger similar to the one in her husband, though she knew nothing of that. There were many unidentified bodies, and sadly, one of them was the warrior's. All of his weapons had been robbed of him by retreating rebels, and so, because no one knew exactly which corpse deserved the honor of the warrior, his body was placed in a grave reading _Unknown Soldier. _The last remains of Water Tribe clothing identified him as one of the Fire Lord's Water Tribe allies, but so many had died and could not be identified…

News of the warrior's death swept the nations and caused them to feel sorrow, but no one felt as much pain as the man's wife. Their child was born – it was a girl, and she looked like her mother in every way. Every way, that is, except her beautiful, piercing blue eyes.


End file.
